


Suspicion of that mask

by HelpingHanikan



Series: Reader one-shots [5]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Matt Murdock x reader - Freeform, Reader Insert, Reader Needs a Hug, Secret Identity, flangst, physical assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelpingHanikan/pseuds/HelpingHanikan
Summary: It's dangerous for anyone to walk the city at night.Like many in your situation there was a savior. A savior with a familiar voice.
Series: Reader one-shots [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084520
Kudos: 8





	Suspicion of that mask

**Author's Note:**

> Depiction of a physical assault at the beginning. That's probably the worst part.

It only takes a second for the entire world to freeze. The couple walking a few feet ahead was suddenly too far away to scream to and the pressure under your right shoulder blade was the only thing organic in this world.

Alleyways were always a danger and a big no-no when walking home at night. Matt more then once talking about a client he had who was assaulted in one of the many alleys you’d pass. A non-direct way of begging you not to make the same decision, take the long way around on the sidewalk. But when work lets out late and your apartment is just _so_ far away. A quick short cut was nothing to sneeze at, save maybe three to four minutes that could be spent in bed or the shower.

The couple ahead was supposed to be your little canary in the cage. Make sure the area was safe as you walk a respectful distance behind them through the darkness. When they turned that corner the organic press behind you finally spoke.

“Don’t scream, don’t say shit…” It was a male that hissed that behind you.

It’s hard to think of a time you had screamed louder.

It’s best not to think about what your attacker originally wanted. Now, with his victim already screaming, he had gone into panic mode. Hand against your head, fingers in your hair, side of your head slammed into the alley wall.

“STOP!” You scream as if he would listen to you.

At no point, between the first grab to being flat on your face, did you ever shut up. From screaming to death threats to profanity you bared your teeth and yelled. It’s a wonder what would have happened had you shut up after the first scream. That maybe that first scream could have been just enough to scare him away instead of making him panic. Instead, he slams you against the wall three times before you finally stop.

In a more dramatic scene, they’d say you had heard your nose crack. That the blood running down your lips was copper on in the back of your throat. Or that you had started crying when a third person had entered the fray just before it was too late.

This wasn’t that dramatic scene. No solid details could be pinned down, just trying to stay in the waking world instead of falling into the next.

The final slap comes when your name is spoken.

“It’s okay now,” the same voice says keeping you close. “You’re okay, I got you.”

An arm is cradling around the back of your neck. It’s hard to say what point this new guy had got his arms around you. Face turned into a chest that was just as thick as the concrete. He was likely trying to be comforting; but when you look through a hazy view into a red eyed man with actual horns it’s hard to feel comfortable.

“Go away,” Your hands press against that too solid chest. Hitting against padding, pressing into his neck. “get off, get off, get off!”

Everything you’ve heard about Dare Devil can be boiled down to either a god sent or a horror story. Had you lived on the words of Karen you might’ve been more grateful. She was one of his biggest cheerleaders, though. The entire situation was the equivalent of meeting your friend’s Pitt for the first time by it snapping while connected to a chain.

To his credit he does let you go. Scrambling away on hands and knees, purse still in your shaky grip, you escape down the alley.

* * *

Mr. Taxi man has been glances back at your every fourteen to sixteen seconds your entire ride home.

How did you look from his perspective? A battered girl pushing into the taxi’s back seat. Rattling off an address One eye was already swelling. Nose, absolutely broken and dripping on your shirt. Staring through the window to avoid making eye contact with him.

“Hospital is just a few blocks…” He offered, already proving to be more invasion than the average driver.

“Just take me home please.” You said hoping he’d take the hint.

He does, staying quiet, but continues looking back at you.

Your now cracked phone was in your hand. Little bits of glass rubbed out onto your thumb. Trying to avoid the caring man, staring into the dark void of cracked glass and potential companionship.

Having a small friend group of lawyers has its advantages, but it can also be annoying as hell. A simple fender bender and Foggy is throwing around numbers and ideas of a lawsuit, all talk quieting down when you explained the lady was probably around when dirt became a thing. Karen was another outlet, but she had subtly started to lose her chill. Calling her and you’d have an ambulance at your door and probably an interview with three different people including her.

The third member of your little ensemble contact stared from your phone screen. A picture taken when he was asleep; head resting on an upward palm. Suit jacket off, tie loosened. His glasses were resting on top of his head and mouth slightly opened. He had been snoring when you looked up at him. It was likely he hadn’t heard your phone click and didn’t know the picture was your profile for him.

“This is it, Sweetie.” Mr. Taxi says. Car pulling into park. “Unless…hospital is nearby.”

The hospital wasn’t nearby. He knew that and so did you, but something says he would have sped through the streets to help you.

“Thank you,” Money is passed between the seat towards him. Not bothering to check how much you gave other than it was more than needed.

Glass presses into your thumb when you hit the call button. You’re through the first ring and almost up the flight of stairs when Matt picks up.

“Hey, hi, how are you?”

Just at the sound of his voice had your dam had started cracking.

“I’m…I’m something. Are you busy right now?” Final step and there’s your door a few feet away.

“No, just playing with papers. Is something up?” He asks.

“Not really. Just…would you mind coming over? Please?” Any attempt at keeping him out of the loop before he arrives went out the window when your voice quivered just enough.

“I’ll be right there,” He hangs up before you can try and reassert yourself.

It’s a loft style apartment where the entire space was open with the “bedroom” separated by half-walls. Couch against the half-wall, desk against the other. Entering and you’re staring right at the kitchen area at the far corner. Bag and jacket tossed onto a counter that you can’t even pretend to know if they landed or not.

Your outward window showed a straight shot down a stretch of road. A view with nothing but dotted lights and a wave of blaring horns just outside the glass. Look hard enough and there are the silhouettes of the people inside: two shapes coming together as one in front of their window, another with a waving arm and a bent elbow towards their ears, a third was just leaning forward in the window staring at a similar view as yours.

So many people, and not one heard you scream.

Blood was mostly wiped from your mouth and under the nose, leaving a little smear like you had gotten too excited with the ketchup.

Matt must have dead sprinted from the office to make it to your door in under a half-an hour. It was actually pretty amusing to imagine him running down the street. Using the people, he crashed and bumped into as some form of a map to get him there. Panting in his gray sweater, regular jeans and untied shoes. He had even left his cane and glasses at the office.

You only had a few seconds before those rough hands were on your face. Although an office worker they were rough and worn from those work outs with a boxing bag. Somehow his thumb managed to find the one, miniscule, bit of blood under your nose.

“That’s not good,” He says, way too calmly.

“No, it’s really-.”

Something between a pop and a crack sounded through the apartment. Hands you would usually seek comfort from are both holding the sides of your heads. Thumbs pressing on either side of your nose and quick, painful pressure from either side.

“JESUS FUCK! WHY?” You screamed pulling away holding your face.

This bastard was trying to turn you towards him. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I fixed it, I’m sorry.” He says, pulling you close to you.

“I fucking hate you.” Hands still to your face, entire body pressing into his. His arms are around your back, rubbing it gently with a soft ‘I know,’ and ‘no you don’t. That’s not possible,’.

It started with a single tear, and then another, and then you’re crying. Hands to your face now to keep the tears from flooding the earth. It becomes body wracking sobs that you wouldn’t have notice he had leaned forward against you. Hands under your buttocks and thighs, lifting you in the air, legs around him like a tired little kid being carried back to the car.

It took some weeks before Matt was completely comfortable in your apartment. Asking you to walk him around his first visit. Thinking back, it might have been some weird form of non-sexual foreplay to get you both closer to the bed without having to do the little “nice place you have” dance.

He had yet to spend the entire night, blaming the loud cars outside your window and the bedsheets, he knew enough to navigate. Setting you down on the couch, both hands on your knees and kneeling down like the knight he likes to pretend to be.

“What happened? Sweetie, please, what’s wrong?” It’s an ongoing theory that Matt learned all his pet names from married couples during church services. Men and women married longer then you’ve been alive who are either deep in love or waiting for the other to die. Depending on his mood. You now know the difference between ‘Sweetie’ and _‘sweetie’._

You told him the entire story from walking through the alley to your savior who you had yelled at. Mathew eventually taking your hands in his to keep them away from your mouth while you sobbed through the story.

“You really need to go to the police, hospital.” He says holding your hands.

“Matthew…”

“Just, at least a report. I can get Detective Mahoney here; you don’t even have to go in.”

“Matt, please, I can’t right now.” If his hands weren’t holding yours they would have been holding your face again. “Please, not tonight.”

“Okay, it’s okay, it’s okay now.” He says catching you when you weren’t even falling. “I’ll stay with you tonight, if you want.”

In a normal night you’d have made a joke. _“Great, so I can save you when he comes back for me.”_ You’d have said. Instead, you just nod into his shoulder, wiping your nose into his coat fabric.

* * *

_“It’s okay now,”_

He had whispered that to you throughout the entire night.

Days later and you can still hear it somewhere in the back of your brain. Supposedly two different voices becoming one. It’s impossible to tell who had said it when and where.

“You can hardly tell,” Karen says after a few seconds of silence.

Your face was a mosaic of green and brown lining one side of your face. The eye on the same side was just as swollen, almost closed. Worst had to be your nose; slightly twerked from breaking and fixing without proper medical care.

Gently your fingers touch over the injuries.

“It makes you look tough. In a ‘you should see the other guy’ sort of way.” Karen was doing her best to make light of the injuries. The bruising was too bad to completely ignore.

First time you saw the other guy was behind a two-way mirror. You hadn’t gotten a good look during the initial assault, but you heard the voice. Brought into a small room with only glass separating you from a man who had tried to bash your head into a wall. He was hidden somewhere in the line of men holding little numbers against their chests.

One by one the men stepped forward. “Don’t say shit,” each said with the same enthusiasm as asking for food. When number four took his turn your hand slammed a vice like grip around Detective Mahoney’s forearm. “Him, it’s number four.” You had said and was immediately escorted out.

The waitress stops by your table. Breadstick time.

“Was there anything weird about the way Daredevil worked with you?” You asked.

It was no secret that Karen had interactions with Daredevil. Mostly just a side comment when Foggy would try and shame her for her lack of chill. A few of her pieces involving it all was framed in the office.

“He’s intimidating. We only met at night and most of the time he was beating someone up while I was running away.” Karen says.

“Funny, he was beating someone up while I just laid there.” You said, a forced laugh coming from both of you. “His voice, though. It sounded weird.”

“Sounded like the typical white guy.”

“Well, yeah, but didn’t he sound familiar to you? In any way?”

“What are you talking about?” She asks.

“He sounded like Matt. He, he sounded just like Matt.” You bluntly said. The whole point of bribing Karen to come out with you for food.

“You got hit pretty hard,” She says. As though your face wasn’t proof enough of that. “He maybe sounded like him, but you were under serious stress. Next person you talked to was Matt and maybe that combined the two.”

“But he smelled like him,” You argued, watching your friend tear a bread stick apart.

The look Karen gave you would have been hilarious if you weren’t trying to get her to see your point. “And what does Matt smell like?” She asks instead.

“Sweat,” You say. “He always smells like sweat.”

The man either had some sweat gland issue who he was running everywhere. More specifically he smelled slightly like salt. Like you could taste him on the tip of the tongue just by being too close.

You were of the lucky few who caught him before the sweat set in. Mere moments after a shower or in the middle of the night. Starting together in an embrace before he travels across to the other side of the bed. Curled up in an almost fetal position, his back towards you. In those moments he still had a trace smell of salt, but mostly of leather. Like the smells of the world was pounded into him through the years and became a permeant part of his being.

That’d be too long (and sappy) to explain, though.

“Oh my god, he does.” Karen laughs a little. Unaware that you had probably just ruined the next time she’s in the same room as Matt.

“So, you see my point?” You try to bring it back around.

“Yeah, Matt has gone this long without learning about deodorant.”

“No, that the other guy, that Daredevil, smells like Matt. That he sounds like, that he sounds and smells just like Matt.” Desperation to _not_ sound crazy was starting to make you sound insane.

Karen leans forward and says your name calmly. She was going into Lawyer mode, a specific state to be feared by lawyers and their general law knowing co-workers can transform to. This specific she had used on their defendants known to ignore advice, assume they know better or (overall) are just too stupid to read between the lines.

“You are aware Matt is blind,” Karen rests her case.

* * *

Karen was your best bet at having a clear look into your theory. With everything Karen had been a part of, everything she’s ever discovered or seen, she’d be the closest you’d get to a clear opinion. And your theory was shot out of the sky like a duck on the first day of hunting season.

A few days in and your bruises started to turn into paler shades of green. Supposedly this meant they were healing. This didn’t stop you from flinching and hissing lowly when Matt got too close to the face.

You’ve taken refuge in his apartment for the time being. Sticking close to his side during the day, taking an Ambien at night for the expected sleep problems. He always kept you in mostly arm reaching distance in the day. Both of you thinking you can keep the other safe if the bastard showed his face again. The more likely scenario is you’d trip over each other trying to keep the other safe.

Matt’s side was to you now. Staring straight ahead as he moved his hands over cooking utensils. His sweatpants tucked into thick socks and wearing _that_ hoodie. The same hoodie he wore that night.

“Where were you about a week ago? When that dick-bag tried to grab me.” You asked.

He pauses. “I think I was at the office when you called. Foggy was still there when I ran out.”

“Where were your glasses?”

He completely stops preparing the gourmet meal, tilting his head slightly where your voice was coming from. “What?”

“Your glasses. You always wear them when you’re out.” This was sounding worse the more you added. Might as well keep going. “And you weren’t wearing them when you got to my apartment.”

He left his station to walk towards where you were sitting. Your legs already pulled up to your chest.

“I can’t walk around without my glasses on?” He asks, sitting down on the other side of the couch. Already embarrassed you only shrugged.

He unintentionally let the silence sit. “Sweetie?” He asks.

“Sorry, I shrugged.” You said.

“Oh, okay. Is something wrong? Did something else happen?” He asks.

Your right leg stretches out towards him until your toes touched his legs. His hand slides down your foot and gently holds the ankle. Thumb rubbing over the knuckle on the side of the ankle.

“Nothing else happened, he didn’t do anything else to me. He didn’t get the chance.” Every close friend you came across after the attack gave you the same sad, knit eyebrows look and the silent question. “That devil guy stopped him.”

“I’m glad he did, I’m really glad he did.” Matt has the audacity to say.

“Where were you?” A stupid, stupid question.

“I told you, I was at the offi-.”

“No, _where_ were you?” You’re crying now. Voice trying to compensate for the lump in your throat that’d turn into a full-on sob if you weren’t careful.

It was that stupid little kid part of your brain that had created that theory. That somehow Matt would have pushed through himself and save you just from…what? Force of will? Love?

Simply put you were one of thousands saved every day by a set of beyond belief people. It was unfair to expect yourself to be any more special than the other thousands. It was unfair to put Matt on the same level as that set. It was unfair to expect any of that.

His gently hold tightened briefly. Pulling your ankle towards him, pulling it between his side and the back of the couch. Your other leg coming to his other side. Your hands pressing under your backside to scoot closer as he did the same.

“I’m right here, I’m here.” He says, almost laying over you.

Your arms are around his neck, hiding those pathetic tears into his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.” He says. Keeping you from looking towards a specific wall.


End file.
